Just Tonight
by PotentialTempest
Summary: [oneshot] He feels like a pervy old man when he watches her. But he can't help it. [Touching on a SiriusGinny affair.]


Author's Note: This is my first Sirius/Ginny attempt and I rather like it.

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Potterverse.

* * *

--

He feels like a pervy old man watching her, but he can't resist.

The way she sways her hips as she moves around the kitchen, occasionally singing under her breath. The way her pretty little lips curve upwards in a smile, or a smirk, or a grin. The way she throws her head back and laughs heartily. The way she stops and stares whenever she passes a mirror.

He wonders what she thinks when she looks at her reflection. He'd like to know if she's thinking 'My, aren't you pretty' or 'What the hell did I do to myself this morning?'

He doesn't know that when she looks at herself she says, "Tom was right about you. You're no better than a slut. There are tons of prettier, skinnier girls out there. Why would anyone ever want you? Why would _he_ ever want you?"

Of course, the 'he' she thinks of isn't Harry, like it used to be. Instead, it's the same man who's obsessed with her.

Every meal, they glance at each other. Neither notices the other's stares. No one else notices, either. They're all too wrapped up in the war. Better things to worry about than those two. They're just the ones who get to stay safe at Headquarters while everyone else is out working.

So now it's only the two of them left in Grimmauld Place for the next week. He doesn't know how he'll handle it. Doesn't think he can contain himself.

He tries to tell himself that he's old enough to be her father. It doesn't work. In essence, she's much older than fourteen. And she hasn't been a _child_ for a long time. Not since her first year, when her innocence went flying out the window with her self-respect.

Her family doesn't realize this, of course. On the outside, she's happy, slightly arrogant, and confident in everything she does.

_Hah_, is all she has to say to that.

Sirius sees it, though. The look in her eyes when she's asked for her opinion, like she's thinking that whatever she says will be wrong. How she only sings under her breath and when she thinks no one is paying attention.

These are important signs he's come to recognize. He knows its cliché, but he sees himself in her. The arrogance to cover the insecurities and the train of partners to feel wanted.

He finds himself wanting to end that in her. He wants to hold her until it all goes away and listen to her talk until the wounds start to fade and then kiss away her tears.

Sirius is sitting in the kitchen, nursing a firewhiskey. That's what he seems to do these days. He's incredulous, realizing his last thought was "I want to be there while she grows old."

He'd never thought that about a female. Never. The closest he had ever come was "I want to be there while Lily and James grow old together." Not exactly the same.

At first glance, Ginevra – she wasn't a Ginny, not really – had reminded him of Lily. Red hair, pretty face, smart, spitfire. But there's so much more to each of them and other than those basic qualities, they aren't very similar.

He's glad. He doesn't want a carbon copy of Lily to end up with a carbon copy of James. Sirius winces as he thinks this. He should wish happiness on his godson. But no, Harry is too innocent, too pure of heart for Ginevra Weasley. Yes, yes. There was his justification.

It worries him that he can justify every wrong thought, word, or action. But he can, and he does.

Like now.

"It's just for tonight," he whispers to her, and she nods. _Just for tonight, and no one else will know_. Not his best, but it works for now.

They both glance around the kitchen, as if checking for eavesdroppers. There are none. The two know they're alone, that they are the only ones in this god-forsaken house.

But they still check.

Because it's wrong. _This is wrong, wrong, wrong_, he thinks. But he can't deny her.

She had gone to bed an hour ago and she was back. She tells him she had a nightmare and she can't sleep alone. She's lying, but she always feels better in another's arms.

"Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" She's wide-eyed and if he didn't know better, he'd say she was naïve. But those eyes have seen more than most... Only fourteen years old and demons lurk beneath her brown eyes.

Only fourteen years old and here she was, offering herself to an ex-con that was rapidly approaching 40; who'd killed and nearly been killed.

_Those eyes will be my undoing_, he thinks, watching her.

She's thinking the same thing, watching his steely gray irises. She likes to think she sees passion heated in his eyes; likes to think she put it there.

"Just tonight..." he whispers again.

They both know it's a lie, but lies keep them warm on cold nights like this.

* * *

-- 

Its a few months short of a year after that night. That first night when all of Ginny's dreams came true. It was the first night since her first year that she'd fallen asleep without the face of Tom Riddle invading her thoughts. That night, when she'd fallen asleep, sated and satisfied, in the arms of the man that should have been the man of her dreams.

Before him, the man of her dreams – or nightmares, rather – was an evil, manipulative bastard.

But now… Now, all she thought of, even as she took other partners to try to forget him, was Sirius Black. His laugh, his smile, his eyes. His touch, his fire, his passion.

The night before she left for Hogwarts she spent in his bed. Their last night together. They both knew it could go on no longer. Reality hit them like a ton of bricks, but neither shed a tear. At least, not while the other was still there.

That night, the loving was long and slow, but at the same time passionately fierce and wildly tumultuous.

That night, they made love with their eyes open, remembering every detail, every nuance of behavior. She'd always remember the sounds he made as they moved together.

* * *

But now Sirius was dead. Ginevra Weasley, a bit shy of fifteen-years-old, has lost the love of her life. Her first instinct was not, as Harry's was, to check the other side of the veil. No, instead, she had the greatest urge to jump through it to meet him. 

She has to resist the urge to go to him every time she goes near the Ministry.

She knows he's dead. But she also knows that, where ever he went when he died, he's waiting for her.

Unfortunately, she _also_ knows he would want her to continue her life. He'd want her to take up another lover. Sirius Black would not be able to stand it if he knew his love spent a single night cold and lonely.

So she moves on.

None of them even come close to his standard. Not Dean Thomas nor Colin Creevey, not Anthony Goldstein, Blaise Zabini… not even Draco Malfoy or Harry Potter.

She'll never be satisfied with another man. She needs a Sirius Black, and he was one of a kind.

But she does as he would have wanted her to do. She never spends the night alone.

She pretends, though. In her mind, they all have raven hair and devastatingly sexy eyes.

She never makes love with her eyes open again.


End file.
